


The Fox and the Fawn

by starofvelaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Smut, Mates, Mild Smut, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starofvelaris/pseuds/starofvelaris
Summary: Elain’s breath came out in a sharp exhale as she felt that tether between them go taut at their closeness. She could always sense him…no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, but when they stood in front of one another…it was as if they were made from the same ore.





	The Fox and the Fawn

**Author's Note:**

> First part is fluff, second part is smut. Skip ahead or stop depending on what you're looking for :)

Elain’s hands shook as she knocked on the deep red of the cherry-paneled door.

The muffled sound of footsteps was all she heard as she waited, holding in her breath as if it could somehow steady her trembling knees.

A click, the sound of the heavy door being pulled across carpet, and there he was before her. Elain’s breath came out in a sharp exhale as she felt that tether between them go taut at their closeness. She could always sense him…no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, but when they stood in front of one another…it was as if they were made from the same ore.

Elain angled her chin upwards, taking in his long red hair, tied in a rather messy knot at the nape of his neck, his shirt unbuttoned at the top revealing that glistening russet neck, his long face drawn with exhaustion, golden eye gleaming in the lamplight. Behind him, Elain could just make out a pile of books on his bed. Researching again, no doubt. Lucien hadn’t ceased his research on Seers and her…gifts. He had seemingly wanted nothing more than to ease her self-doubts with understanding, explanation. As if anyone could truly, fully understand what it was to be her, she had thought wryly.

That worn face changed to surprise as he realized she had not come merely to deliver a message from Feyre or drop off another tray of tea, but was indeed there for him. Hope flashed there as he beheld the small smile she offered and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t talk,” Elain whispered as she swiftly held a finger up to his lips in a gesture that was bolder than she felt in that moment.

She stepped into the room, pushing him backwards gently. She suddenly became hyperaware of how thin her nightgown seemed, how very bare she felt entering his room like this. But she had made her decision.

Turning around to shut the door behind them, she took a moment to steady her resolve. His face was confused when she again met his gaze, but she gently tugged on that tether between them…that bond she still had trouble making sense of…enough to get his attention. Enough to let him know her intentions.

“Lucien,” she let his name play upon her tongue, the flick of it against her teeth like a sharp pluck of an instrument. She thought she saw him shudder at the sound.

She pulled his arms toward her, feeling the warm corded strength beneath her still-shaking hands, letting herself finally touch him, finally feel him. She laced her fingers through his, letting him back her against the warm-toned wallpaper behind the door. She felt him push back, hesitating…he was always so hesitant. Always searching…waiting. Too afraid to overstep his bounds. Afraid that she might recede back into the shadows, like a frightened fawn. 

But Elain had had enough. Enough of everyone expecting nothing more than fear and fragility. Enough of them tip-toeing around her like she was a glass vase propped on the edge of a table, primed to shatter at any moment.

“H-how are you?” Lucien breathed, as if small talk might distract from the fact that they were now pressed fully against one another. So cautious, as if one wrong move would render this all just a dream.

But Elain only gave a devious smile as she held out one leg and slowly twined it between his. She felt him tense and then ease again, felt his warm breath on her forehead. She was nervous too, there was no getting around it. But those past months of eating, sleeping, and living amongst each other had allowed her time. And time was what she had needed.

“I…wanted to…” Elain started, praying her confidence wouldn’t falter now, at the precipice of…this.

Her brows stitched together for a breath as she took in his face, seeing the hope within it that she knew he was fighting against.  

“I…I’ve decided not to ignore it,” Elain said carefully, running her hands through the delicate strands of hair that had escaped his hastily tied hair. “I’ve realized I  _cannot_  ignore it,”

Her hands left his hair and slowly hovered around his jaw, testing…teasing both him and herself. She watched his brow furrow, eyes trained on her. Finally, she let the pads of her fingers press onto his warm lower lip. He went so still, and closed his good eye, as if he might open it again to find it was all a dream.  
Elain felt a warmth pool around her. It was the first time she had ever touched him so…intimately. True, they had shared polite embraces, teasing prods, but this closeness set Elain aflame. It was new…but yet she knew it had always been simmering there beneath the surface. More ancient than the city they stood in.

He nearly pulled away, but she strained against his torso, keeping that leg against him, urging him to keep pressed against her. And she found that she liked the way it teased him…liked the way she saw him fight the same need she felt to surrender fully. Like it was a game.

“Elain, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t  _have_  to do anything. I chose this. I am choosing this.  _You_ ,” She said, finding that steady voice again, cupping one small hand around the broad plane of his jaw.

And she saw then, the ancient satisfaction, possessiveness, joy in his face. The same she felt deep within her at the words. And something indeed shifted inside, like the switch of a lamp.

She had felt that faint tether those past months, like the string of a kite guiding her always back to him. But now…the string had become a rope. Defined, strong, unyielding. Like a cobweb forged into silver thread. 

And before she could stop herself, she rose up on her toes and captured her mouth with his. It was a ghost of a kiss, soft and searching. She wanted to learn the shape of him, wanted to feel what it was to belong to another.

“Elain… _Elain_ …Elain,” his voice repeated her name over and over as they kissed, until both their faces were damp with shared tears. Their movements were restrained and slow at first, but the fire within them grew and Elain found herself searing hot with it.

“Lucien, I want this,” she said, eyes boring into his face, trying to convey everything she felt with those simple words. She lowered her delicate hands to his waistband, running it along that precipice.

A tension that had been hovering upon his bodies for these past months seemed to ease as he winced and let out a sigh. “Elain, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she hissed, bringing her finger back to his lips. Those full, soft lips…  
Lucien sucked in a breath against her hand, and she wondered if every inch of him was screaming to just let her have her way with him, like every inch of her was.

“Elain, I don’t want you to…make a mistake,”

Elain’s heart strained. This male… _her mate_ …had been so broken and told so many times he was unworthy of what he wanted, that he couldn’t accept what he so wanted.

“You’re not a mistake,” Elain whispered, resting her palm against the elegant planes of his cheekbones.

As if to make sure that this really was real, that finally finally she wanted what he so desperately hoped for, Lucien grasped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes.

“I need to know that you are doing this because  _you_  want to,” he said softly.  

Elain bit her lip, a flash of anger crossing through her eyes. “I am tired, Lucien. Tired of everyone else telling me how I should feel, tip-toing around me, worrying about me,”

Lucien waited, watching her rapid breaths, the way it made her nightgown shift over her chest, the way the gentle slopes of her melted into the vertical planes of him. He looked worried.

“I want this, Lucien. I want…” she faltered, pausing to entwine her fingers in his. “I want…you, and I have never been more sure of anything before,”

“I want you too,” Lucien said, a smile of relief breaking that constant concern that had been etched into his face. “I’ve wanted you all along,”

In answer, almost as if she could bear it no longer, Elain rose up to him again let his mouth crush into hers. She was so small against his towering build that he hoisted her up, pressing her into the wall so he could surrender fully to her lips.

“I won’t ever stop wanting you, Elain,” he said from behind her lips. “Not now. Not for a thousand years,”

And indeed, they had a thousand years together, more even. Something in Elain had become whole as they stood there holding one another, the fox and the fawn joined at last. 

 

* * *

  
  


That night had felt like a dream. They had stood there for so long, just holding onto one another, pressed up in that corner of his bedchamber. He had kissed her over and over, the relief splashing across their bond, in a more tangible way than Elain had expected. She had always felt the bond, buried deep within, but it had sprung forth like a fiery ember that night, connecting their every thought like a tether to the heavens.

“Elain,” Lucien had whispered in her ear, as his hands smoothed over the surface of her hips, her torso, her ribs. She knew he wanted her, and she’d never wanted something as much as she wanted him in that moment. But she had stilled, a breathless smile on her face, and lowered her hands to her sides. _  
_

“Goodnight, Lucien,” she said between his relentless kisses, smoothing down the skirt of her nightgown and dipping away from his mouth. It was a chaining, on both her desire and his. She wanted him,  _oh she wanted him,_  but she suddenly felt scared again, that blazing resolve from before winking out like a candle.

“Where are you going, dove,” he pleaded as she gently lowered herself from his arms, still propping her up against the wall.

“Don’t worry,  _my mate_ ,” she said, testing the words on her tongue and liking the way they sent shivers through him, and set their want aflame. “We will still have time for… _this_ ,”   
  
“You can’t leave now,” he groaned in her ear.

“Until tomorrow,” she smiled a bit deviously, knowing the torture she was causing him, and left a whisper of a kiss on his jaw. They had time, she knew. And she needed more time…to revel in this newness. In this newfound connection. Before they solidified it.

His expression told her he was about to protest again, but she just straightened and twirled away out the door, leaving him speechless behind her. “Sleep well, Lucien Vanserra,” She caught a glance of him as she closed the door behind her, his red hair askew, panting in the wake of their yearning.

As Elain walked lightly back to her room, she couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment. Yes, she had wanted to yield to that desire, just as much as Lucien, if not more…but the other part of her wanted to delay, to cherish the newness of the bond. Feyre had explained to her the way the bond was truly…accepted. And she had suddenly felt a flurry of nerves stifle her confidence.

The next day, she had planned to go back to him, spend the day together, and see…where it took them. But the Cauldron had other plans, it seemed.  
  
Lucien had been summoned to the Court of Nightmares that next morning, to negotiate with his awful brothers over some territory dispute with the Autumn Court. And as Rhysand’s emissary, duty called. Elain couldn’t help but feel frustrated when he told her over breakfast. She had planned on taking him riding through the upper crawls of the plateau and then a picnic on the beach at the west end of Velaris. She had yet to explore the outer rim of the city and its landscape, and knew some time alone with her mate was needed.

Indeed she had wanted nothing more to touch him as soon as she saw him gliding into the dining room, and that desire increased tenfold when she was told it would have to wait. But neither of them had told anyone of their bond acceptance, and she wasn’t sure when the right time would be, so she acted demure and as uninterested as she could as he ate quickly in silence. Nesta and Cassian, thankfully had been absent from breakfast, doing Cauldron-knew what, but Azriel waited at the door to fly Lucien into Keir’s realm.  
  
She frowned into her plate and let him give her a chaste but lingering kiss on the cheek before he rose to depart. He bent over and squeezed her hand gently, below the table and away from any curious eyes.

“I owe you a ride,” she whispered in his ear, and he instantly froze, his mouth twitching. She, of course, was just referring to her original plan for the day, but she nearly barked in laughter at the way Lucien restrained his expression, his throat bobbing dryly, and straightened up, his golden eye whirring.

“I will be back soon, dove,” He gave her one last apologetic glance, his golden eye gleaming in the morning light, before they were gone.

She spent the next three days mostly in the warmly lit sitting rooms of the House, trying not to dwell in her disappointment. She tried reading, but the romance books she favored paled in comparison to the feelings swirling in her mind. She tried tending to the delicate potted plants on the windowsills, but they were already so healthy and pruned that it hardly passed any time at all. Nesta showed up on the second day, windswept and flushed after a flight with Cassian and barely stopped to chat before they left to explore the city. They invited her, that ever-present concern shadowing her oldest sister’s face, but Elain insisted she would rather stay home and read.

On the fourth day, they had a dinner planned for the grand, more formal dining room of the House. Still casual, with only the family being invited, but Feyre and Rhysand showed up dressed to the nines as per usual. Followed by Mor and Amren, fresh in from an evening concert Elain had also politely declined an invitation to. Cassian and Nesta later joined in for dessert, and they broke open two bottles of wine over a roaring fire. The summer had begun its surrender to the crisp evenings of early autumn and Elain seated herself under a plush blanket on a chaise in the corner of the room.

“Feyre, can I ask you something?” Elain asked after awhile when her youngest sister had come over to offer her another glass of wine. The steel of grey her eyes met the brown of her own in something between curiosity and concern.

“Of course,” Feyre answered gently, sitting down beside her.

“When you and Rhys…bonded. Were you…nervous?” Elain’s voice sounded smaller than usual, and she could barely meet her sisters eyes.

“Yes,” Feyre admitted, edging a glance at Rhysand, who was at the opposite end of the room, deep in conversation with Mor. “But I was also…resolved. And so happy I thought I’d burst into flame. And very nearly did, come to think of it,”   
  
She laughed at the memory, but Elain pressed on. “But I mean…the actual bonding…” she trailed off, a scarlet flush overtaking her cheeks. She felt so stupid and naïve. She was the older sister, why must she be asking her youngest sister for such advice?

Realization crossed Feyre’s face. “Oh, right. Well…” Feyre crossed her hands in her lap. “I had…experience. So I knew what to expect. So in that regard, I wasn’t nervous,”

Elain pursued her lips. Of course. She had forgotten. Feyre had been with Isaac and the Lord of Spring and Cauldron knew who else. Why should she have felt nervous in the same way?

“Right,” was all Elain could think to say, now feeling foolish at having brought it up.

“But what I wasn’t prepared for,” Feyre continued. “Was the depth of how I felt. How much…love and power can overcome you in that moment of bonding,” Elain felt a stab of envy at the way her sister glanced back at her mate, such unending joy and admiration on her face.

“Elain…are you and Lucien…?” Feyre whispered as she turned back to her, excitement and a certain kind of apprehension lighting her eyes.

“Perhaps,” Elain replied curtly, lifting her chin. Feyre looked surprised but pleased.

“So you have made your decision,” Feyre said. It was not exactly a question.

Elain nodded, turning her head towards Nesta. “But don’t tell Nesta. Not just yet,”

Feyre gave her an incredulous look. “If she finds out I know before her…I’ll be as good as carrion,”

Elain scoffed. “Not without my permission, you won’t,”

Feyre looked far from convinced as she leaned in to grasp Elain’s hand. “Just, be careful. Lucien is…” she trailed off. “He will be wonderful for you. And I am so thrilled for the both of you. But Nesta may have trouble sharing the sentiment,” They both watched their oldest sister, who had now joined Rhysand at the window, laughing merrily to some shared joke.

“I’m not sure, she hated Rhysand and look at them now,” Elain pointed out and smiled knowingly.

Feyre sighed and grasped her sister tightly. “Just…tread carefully, that’s all,”

“I can take care of myself,” Elain replied shortly. “I’m not some shivering fawn. Not anymore,”

Something like pride shown in Feyre’s face as she nodded, and stood to rejoin her mate.  “I can see that,”

Elain turned to stare out the window again, past the glittering rooftops of the city, past the red-stone hills that sat beneath  the far off snow-capped mountains, as if she could see all the way to where Lucien was. She felt a stab of something foreign in her stomach. A void. Like she was missing something she hadn’t realized she needed with every fiber of her being.

After the dinner that night, as she lay sleepless in her too-large bed, her thoughts strayed only to him. She could picture him clear as day, tall and lean in his usual green tunic, his strong jaw always set in some kind of combination of annoyance and amusement. How she had fallen for such a sardonic male, she would never know. But all she knew was that he was just what she wanted, despite it all.

She tried not to regret her stemming of their touching those few nights ago, tried to remind herself that it had been the sensible thing to do. The responsible thing, to draw out their bonding, to give them time to adjust to one another.

_Yes, so very sensible._

She tried not to imagine what it might have been like if she had stayed, if she had let him carry on pushing up her gown, kissing her neck. She tried not to imagine how they might have proceeded from there, how they might have fallen together on the bed after it had become too much, how they might have slowly removed every last shred of fabric from one another, how they might have run their hands upon each other’s skin…reveling in the feeling of another. How he might have used those strong arms to lift her up above him, how she might have straddled him and bent down to run her tongue over his throat. How she might have let him squeeze her and bring his hips in line with hers. How his groan might have sounded in her ears at the touch, how it might have reverberated down her body and pooled in her–

Elain’s breath caught and she sat straight up in bed, trying to ignore the throbbing heat that threatened to drive her mad.

_Sensible_ , she reminded herself. It was the sensible thing to do.  
  
With some difficulty, she managed to distract herself and fall asleep, wondering how she would get through the next few days. The tales Feyre had warned her about, the frenzy of newly mated pairs that she had rolled her eyes at now didn’t seem too far-fetched. If this was what it felt like, without having fully bonded, she could not imagine the depth of desire it would turn to.

The next morning, something felt different. The House, the room, felt less empty somehow. Like a piece of…something…had been put back in place.

Not daring to hope, but mad with curiosity, she dressed quickly, and nearly bolted down the corridor to the living spaces, eyes scanning every corner of the room.

And there he was, talking with Azriel, evidently having just gotten in, from the look of their windswept clothes. He stood tall but by the slight slouch of his shoulders, he was exhausted from what had undoubtedly been days of arguing and placating the arrogant heads of the courts.

As soon as Elain entered, Lucien stilled and whipped his head around.

“Elain,” he said, nearly dropping the black-ribboned scroll he held in his hands.

“It is good to see you,” Elain bowed her head, praying the smile on her face appeared as virtuous and unassuming as she was attempting it to appear. “And you Azriel,”

The Shadowsinger just lowered his head respectfully, glancing briefly between the two of them, and exited the room with a bow.

“You were gone..awhile,” Elain said breathlessly, taking a hesitant step toward him.

“Three days and eighteen hours,” He replied smoothly. “But who’s counting,”

Elain’s face broke into a smile, and for a moment she thought they might have run to each other and embraced right there and then, the tension hanging between them more taught than a sailor’s rope. 

But she only tuned her face up with a polite smile and said, “Shall we join the rest of the House for breakfast, then?”

Something flickered in his face, as he saw her little game. She wouldn’t be giving him what he wanted so easily, no matter how much she wanted it too.  
  
“Yes, let’s,” he nodded and held out his arm, to escort her.  
  
“How very proper you are,” Elain remarked, taking his arm and trying not to dwell on the warm strength she felt there.  
  
“I am nothing if not proper,” Lucien replied dryly. “Or at least, I am only improper when it counts,”  
  
Elain’s breath hitched as she saws the deviant look cross his face.  
  
“I’m…” she started, unsure how to continue. “I’m sorry for leaving, the other night,”  
  
“That’s alright,” he said as they rounded a corner. “It was the  _sensible_  thing to do,”

Elain stopped dead and stared at him, agape.  
  
“I felt you last night,” Lucien admitted.

“Oh?” Elain asked innocently, knotting her hands together on top of the thick layers of the gown she had chosen. “Just…felt?”

“I couldn’t see you but…I felt you, and heard bits and pieces of your thoughts…somehow,”

Elain’s cheeks flushed and he bit her lip. “I may have been…regretting my choice to leave your chambers the other night. I may have been finding a need for someone to…occupy my time,”

Satisfaction spread across his face and he smirked, “Oh, were you?” they turned the corner and began to descend the polished red stairs, their steps echoing up the cavernous arched ceiling where a decadently-appointed crystal chandelier sparkled in the skylight above.

“And did you find anyone to occupy your time while I was gone?” his smile turned mischievous again.

Elain’s mouth dropped in outrage, but she laughed. “I am more dutiful than that, Vanserra,”

“Oh, are you  _dutiful_?” Lucien edged her a glance with his green eye.

“When it counts,” she answered slyly, echoing his words.   
  
They approached an entrance to another sitting room. There were so many unused ones sprinkled throughout the House, it was a wonder Rhysand’s family had found enough furniture to fill them.

She indeed glanced inside as they passed, to find it utterly empty. She turned back to Lucien and paused. She found herself liking the way his eyes traced the contours of her gown as they stopped, noting the way he stared at the lowcut style of her bodice, probably noting the way it had shifted above her chest as she walked. She knew he’d be at her mercy the moment she so much as rolled down her stockings.   
  
“Did you miss me?” she wondered aloud innocently. “Or was I the only one pining?”

Before she had time to take another step, Lucien had whisked her inside that sitting room and latched the door behind them. She gasped in astonishment and found herself pressed against him behind the door, as she had done to him that first night.

Elain’s mouth was agape, in surprise and delight as she was rendered breathless above him. He pressed her into him, taking her mouth with his own, and ran his tongue along her lips.

“I did miss you, dove,” he growled in her ear, the warmth of his breath sending thrills through her body.

She watched as his gaze became searing with want as he leaned back into the wall, spreading her thighs slightly. She let him grab her rear and prop her up on his torso, so she could grab his neck and bring his lips to hers again and again. She wished she could taste all of him at once, and there was scarcely time to breath in between their kisses.

“Lucien,” she whispered his name against his neck as he made fast work of unfastening her corset. “I wanted you.. _so much_ , last night, and the night before, and before…”

Delight lit through him as he replied easily, “I know,”

“Arrogant fox,” Elain jabbed, but she was beaming all the same.  Lucien walked them the few feet to the nearest settee and let her gently plummet onto it, her corset falling away. He bunched the fabric of her gown underneath, poised to lift it over her head. But his eyes met hers, questioning still, even now.

Elain did the work for him, taking the skirts in her own hands and throwing them off, so that only her undergarments and stockings remained, made from delicate ivory satin and lace.

“Elain,” he breathed reverently as he looked down at her, as one of her straps fell and she didn’t stop it. He stepped closer, standing above her, the lust in his face matching the same in hers. Elain could have died from want, as she imagined all the ways he could touch her,  _would be_  touching her soon.  

He kneeled before her where she sat on that sofa, running his hands along her shoulders, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One thumb traveled inward, meeting the swollen flesh of her breast, flicking over the peaked redness. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he leaned in and captured her breast in his mouth, tasting and sucking gently. Elain gasped and arched her back, letting her eyes close in ecstasy, wondering if she might too burst into embers.

“You like that, dove?” he asked in a growled whisper, his breath tickling her skin as he gazed up at her from where he kneeled.

She nodded, eyes still closed as his mouth played upon her skin like a minstrel, roaming until she had shed her undergarment top entirely.

Panting, chest heaving, she took him in her arms and moved them both back to standing, forgetting that they were in the middle of a sunny sitting room, a mere two rooms away from where her family gathered for a meal. But none of that mattered then, only the feel of her mate against her and the growing want in her core.

“Lucien,  _please_ ,” she urged his hands faster, wanting to catch this want like a beast in a net, tired of the chase. She frantically unbuttoned his tunic and peeled away the fabrics. So many layers,  _so formal,_  these damned fae.

When he was shirtless and she could finally feel the warmth of his dark golden skin beneath her eager fingertips, she let her mouth find his again. She gasped into his mouth when his own fingtertips traveled up beneath what was left of her undergarments, to swirl around the edge of her. Testing the slickness, the place she knew he so desperately wanted to know. Circling it, but never quite meeting the center.

“Please,” she whined again, and he smirked, his hair now askew and his forehead shining, but she didn’t care. She had never thought him more handsome, more desirable than that moment.

“Anything for my  _dutiful, sensible_  dove,” he said, the sarcasm dripping in his voice.

She didn’t have time to give a pointed reply before she found herself nearly collapsed into him, as his fingers angled inward, finally feeling the center of her. His eyes were trained on her the entire time, and they seemed to relish in her loss of control. Just as quick as they had entered, he pulled away, smirking as she let out a whimper of protest.

He turned her around so her rear pressed into him from behind, clutching her, one hand between her legs and one gently caressing her chest. She shook, not in fear but in the overwhelming want that had turned to need. Need for him to touch and take her. Need for her to know every inch of his body.

“More?” he asked in his silvery tongue, just as his fingers found purchase within her folds. She nodded obediently, gasping at the newfound pleasure, wondering if it could ever be any better than this.

“Show me how dutiful you can be, my darling,” he growled, as he bent her over so she was belly-down on the pillows of the settee, spreading her legs slightly. He did not push himself on her fully. There was time to play, yet.

“Lucien,” she pleaded. And when it felt like it had become too much to bear, when she thought the building heat would not wait another moment, she felt him rest above, feeling the soft weight of him crush into her. And carefully, she felt him slip aside her underwear with his fingers. She gasped again as his fingers entered her once, and then twice, before pulling out again.

“Please,” she tried not to beg, tired to retain any amount of dignity. But it was no use, as he teased her again and again.

“Yes, my dove,” he whispered as he replaced those fingers with his mouth, and it took everything in her not to cry out. She buried her face in one of the plush pillows beneath her as her body shook. She thought she was falling and flying and dying all at once, and she let out a strangled cry.

She felt the rumble of his laughter behind her as he grasped her legs, shushing her lightly. “We don’t want an audience,” he softly clutched the undergarments still sitting askew on her hips and pulled them down, letting his hands graze along her legs as he did.

Elain twisted slightly when she was free of them so she could look up at his face and smirked, “They can listen, for all I care,”

“Oh, really?” he laughed quietly and threw the strip of fabric behind him, fire blazing in his face.

“I don’t care,” she pulled him over her, kissing him deeply.

“Such a devious little dove you are,” he said against her lips. Without waiting another moment, Elain turned to face him fully where he kneeled, and grabbed tight on his trousers. Licking her lips, she pulled them down, wanting them both to be bared, wanting to seize back the upper hand. And Lucien let her, kicking them and his boots off and raising them both up to a standing position again. She felt herself flush as she took in the sight of him, of all of him, but she was not afraid. Not anymore. Only the need for him consumed her, there was no place for nerves.

Lucien let out a long sigh as she took him in her grasp, the warmth of her hand alone enough to set him ablaze. He watched as she bit her lower lip in concentration, wanting so badly to capture that mouth with his own and take her, every inch of her. But he resisted somehow, content to see her relish in his shudders. She slowly ran her hand across the tip of him. So  _so_ tortuously slow. He was utterly bent to her will in that moment, but he did not mind. So long as she would do _this_  to him for the rest of their days.

She could almost feel his pleasure through the bond alongside hers as they touched and explored one another. And they stood there, grasping one another until Elain stopped, gently moving back to lay down on that sofa.

For a brief moment, Lucien looked as if he thought she was changing her mind. But that was soon remedied by the sight of her carefully spreading her legs as she laid back, staring him down with an intensity that stripped him to the bone.

He hovered over her, gently stroked her wetness, feeling the want within himself ratchet up alongside hers.

Elain’s mind might have gone blank, for she could think only of his touch, of the growing ache in her core, of the need to have him closer as he worked her core with those nimble fingers. The feel of him there, as they lingered at the threshold of their mating was enough to ruin her. She felt the tether pulse alongside them, calling them further into that bond.

“Lucien, I want you,” she said, parting her lips to let his tongue roam within, tasting him again and again. “ _Now_ ,”

“Not later?” he asked in jest and he pressed her nails into his back for emphasis. He growled in approval and aligned himself to her.

And suddenly no words were needed, no words could fully convey what lay between them as they fell together. She widened herself to accommodate him, as he entered her fully. She gasped, suddenly unsure of what to do, but trying to focus on the way he felt within her. The rightness of that moment.

She was too afraid to move first, and he too was still for a moment, until she felt one of his hands gently support the back of her head, while the other clutched her thigh. His gaze was trained on her, and they trembled together, on that precipice between worlds.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss him, this time sweetly and with purpose. Something passed across his face, like a sorrow and a joy rolled into one.

“And I love you,” he replied as he finally began to move. And they were joined. Bound, like an unbroken link, a tied thread, an eternal chain.

Elain felt like she had been set ablaze with want as they moved and learned of each other, and she clutched him tighter and tighter on that small sofa as he slid in and out.  Her eyes bore into his, huffing out a sharp sigh as he moved, filling her up so completely. They kissed fervently and she could think of nothing but his body on hers, see nothing but the sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant slopes of his cheekbones, the way his brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and concentration. She lifted one hand to grasp the falling tendrils of his sleek red hair and braced the other against his back, urging him farther, deeper, faster. And he obliged.

“You like that, my darling?” he gasped.

“Yes,” she whimpered in response, squeezing her thighs around his and digging her nails into his back, hoping it wasn’t hurting him. But he seemed to thrill at the contact as it urged him on.

Soon, her repeated gasps filled the room, matched only by his groans as they moved. Her lips, swollen with the heat of kissing, parted again and again until he captured them with his own in an intensity she had never before known. She needed more, it wasn’t enough…so she ran her fingers down the pane of his abdomen to the apex of her thighs, until she found her center. Lucien’s eyes followed the movement and he gave a loud groan, before cupping her thighs and smoothly rolling them over so he was sitting on the sofa and she was hoisted above him, her legs bent around him, giving her more pleasure. And Elain thought she might combust then and there. Head back and eyes closed, she could think of nothing but his body, of her desire to fuse with him. As if they were two rivers joining into an expansive ocean.

When the pleasure had ratcheted up, when she thought she couldn’t handle any more but still wanted more, she felt herself shatter around him, felt the intense relief and pleasure barrel through her. She cried out, knowing she was probably waking up half the city, her entire body damp with sweat. And Lucien followed, and she could feel his relief through their bond.

After, once their sighs broke and their breathing slowed, they stayed joined together, still clutching one another. She held him, running her hands slowly over his back; savoring every point in which their bodies still met.

“Well,” Lucien asked for a moment as Elain stood, parting their bodies at last. “Was it worth the wait?

“I suppose,” Elain said with a devious grin, standing before him. She pushed back the stray hair that had become stuck to his forehead, caressing the scar that shot down the side of his brow as she did. She kissed him deeply, pushing him back onto the sofa. “But can we do it again?”


End file.
